


The Bridge Between Us

by therealjainasolo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealjainasolo/pseuds/therealjainasolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy’s sigh of relief at seeing that she is okay suddenly forms a ligature around his throat when he sees the arrow.<br/>His eyes widen as he watches it fly, knowing that he is too far away to stop it and feeling about as helpless as he did when he watched the guards drag away his mother and sister.<br/>He yells her name when it hits her.<br/>Clarke.</p>
<p>It was late and I needed something to get me through the wait...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bridge Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Um, so I don't even know what I was doing with this but basically it's an alternate end to 1x09.  
> Ages ago right?

It all happens so quickly.

One second Jasper is standing next to them, muttering something incoherent, whilst Bellamy and Raven watch the bridge. Bellamy trusts the Grounders about as far as he can throw them and of course Spacewalker believes that he can achieve the impossible. Of course he believes that these people are more than just savages. Honestly, if this ended badly, Bellamy was going to kill the damn idiot. It has absolutely nothing to do with the horrible images running through his head of Clarke being impaled by one of the grounders’ medieval looking weapons and the weight that settles in his stomach whenever he thinks about what could happen to their Princess. It has absolutely nothing to do with that at all. His _sister_ is on that bridge and if anything, _anything_ happened to her, Bellamy was going to find all of the grounders he could and string them up, but not before putting Spacewalker and the grounder that was making moony eyes at Octavia through their own personal hell. _No one_ would be able to stop him.

(It doesn’t occur to him that if anything happened to Clarke, then his reaction would most likely be the same.)

The next second, Jasper is saying that there are grounders in the trees and Bellamy barely has time to look through the scope on his gun before Jasper is crashing through the trees, screaming at Clarke to run.

But by then, it is too late to stop it. Jasper is shooting wildly and grounders begin to drop from the trees, dead. (Pure luck of course: the kid isn’t _that_ good a shot.) Bellamy and Raven point their guns and begin to shoot as well, but so do the grounders. Of course they brought their own back up. Bellamy scolds himself for not thinking of this sooner. He shouldn’t have let his emotions get in the way but this time he had done just that, because _dammit,_ both his sister and Clarke were on the bridge so _excuse him_ for not thinking like the emotionless leader he made himself out to be.

(Of course the entire reason he was on Earth in the _first_ place was because of his emotions but he chooses to not think of that. He also chooses to not think about how these kids would have coped without him, how _Octavia_ would have coped without him. Part of him thinks less of them would be dead but the rational part of him- which sounds oddly a lot like Clarke- argues that _more_ people would be dead. And he _definitely_ chooses to not think about the amount of those scumbags- convicted rapists, murderers- not all of those kids were as innocent as the Princess liked to think- that would have tried to violate his sister and Munroe and Raven… and Clarke.)

Octavia would always be his weakness but right now, so, it appeared, was Clarke.

He hears Finn yell at Clarke to run and that snaps his attention to the bridge and away from the trees. He sees Grounder Princess pull out a knife and the only thought that runs through his mind is _‘Oh no you don’t, you bitch’_. He shoots at her and she stumbles away, clutching at her shoulder. Clarke makes eye contact with him as she turns to run and he nods at her, knowing that she is thanking him with her gaze. Bellamy’s sigh of relief at seeing that she is okay suddenly forms a ligature around his throat when he sees the arrow.

His eyes widen as he watches it fly, knowing that he is too far away to stop it and feeling about as helpless as he did when he watched the guards drag away his mother and sister.

He yells her name when it hits her.

_Clarke._

Bellamy doesn’t notice the others screaming at him to move, to duck, to get out of the way. All that matters is that she is hit, _his_ Princess is _down._ He is running on autopilot now and locates the grounder that shot her- God she’s been _shot_ -and his finger squeezes the trigger before he even registers what he has done. He doesn’t look to see if he has made the shot or if the bastard is still breathing because his legs are already moving to her. 

_ Please be okay Princess.  _

 

* * *

 

Clarke doesn’t register what has happened until suddenly she is no longer seeing Finn screaming at her to run but instead has a literal face full of dirt. That’s when the pain kicks in; a sharp and fiery throbbing in the centre of her lower back. Clarke has been trained to recognise types of injuries and assess the best way in which to heal them. She knows how to soothe a patient; she knows how to be analytical and calculative in a situation such as this. _God_ knows that she has been forced into being the cold and emotionless doctor far too many times since arriving on Earth, but now that _she_ is the injured one, her thoughts do not even touch upon healing.

For a moment the world is silent and still. There is not a single disturbance despite the chaos that she knows is going on around her. She vaguely realises that this is probably down to the ringing in her ears that she must have gained from the force of being knocked to the ground but none of this seems to register at the forefront of her mind. This peacefulness surrounding her is almost unnerving but Clarke begins to feel as if she could stay in this detached limbo forever.

Then that silence is broken with the same ferocity as a rock being hurled at a mirror, and the world seems to explode in a series of shattering eruptions.

Arms are lifting her, turning her over; voices are frantically asking ‘ _Is she okay?’ ‘Can she hear me?’_ and _‘Oh God is she breathing?!’_

Another voice angrily answers _‘Of course she’s breathing! Calm down Jasper!_ ’ 

That voice.

A deep and commanding voice that only days, weeks, months ago- God, it feels like years- coaxed nearly a hundred juvenile delinquents into following him, perhaps even to the ends of the Earth. The voice that had brought some form of order to unadulterated chaos is the very same voice that brings Clarke back to her place on that bridge. 

She feels trapped in her own mind, unable to open her eyes or form any kind of speech but she manages to weakly protest when she feels herself being gently lifted and held in strong arms. The arrow- Clarke can feel it sticking in her back- jolts and she lets out a cry of pain. The arms manoeuvre her so that she is lying in a more comfortable position and she settles down, focussing on trying to fight back into consciousness. Clarke is on the very brink, hovering uncertainly in the void between sleep and waking. She tries to push forward, tries to focus on an anchor to keep her awake but it is so easy, _too_ easy, to fall back into the meaningless slumber. Clarke knows that if she allows herself to sleep, there is the risk that she’ll never wake and it seems so enticing to do just that. She knows that she has to help them save her; she _knows_ that they need her to survive...but do they? _Is_ she actually necessary to the survival of the 100? At least what remains of them, that is? Is that not _her_ fault; would more of them have been alive if she was not there? 

Clarke knows, somewhere in her, she knows that this is stupid and that her brain is pushing forward her insecurities and making them seem true in order to make her give up. Her body is shutting down and she _has_ to stop it. 

But how does she do that when she cannot even wake herself up?

The voice speaks again, sending rumbles through the chest that her head is pressed against. Of course it’s _him_ that’s carrying her. “We need to get her back to camp. Fast.”

Is that concern she hears? And something else too, something deeper and rawer that she doesn’t want to hear, not when it is coming from _him_. 

_Fear_.

Movement jostles her again but it isn’t long until the motion is regular and soothing. Clarke tries to fight it, knowing how dangerous it could be but even she, Clarke Griffin, who had survived poisonous gas and first heartbreak and making a home in a completely foreign land with only delinquents for company, cannot prevent herself from being lulled into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

 

Clarke doesn’t know how long it is until she awakes- heck she doesn’t even know for certain if this _is_ waking- but the next time her eyes open, she is met with the sight of Bellamy Blake slouched over asleep on a makeshift stool beside her. She groans, feeling an aching pain in her lower back and the noise causes Bellamy to wake. His eyes flash open, darting around as if sensing danger, and his whole body tenses, ready to attack. When he sees that there is nothing wrong, his eyes settle on her and she sees the relief that suddenly washes over him. His whole body relaxes as he stares at her.

“Morning Princess,” he greets, his voice throaty and rough. Clarke attempts to pull herself up into a sitting position but all it brings is more pain. She winces and immediately Bellamy is by her side, a hand pressed between her shoulders, supporting her as she sits up. 

“Don’t- Don’t strain yourself. Last thing we want is you pulling out your stitches,” he mutters and he is closer than she thought, his breath is warm against her ear and strangely she doesn’t want to move away. 

“Stitches?” she questions, her mind suddenly blanking all of the medical knowledge she has ever acquired because dear _God_ he is so _close_ to her.

Bellamy nods his head, his dark eyes glittering slightly. “Yeah. We couldn’t get to your mom for help so O and Raven had to do their best without. It wasn’t too deep so…How do you feel?”

Clarke moves her hand to her lower back and gently prods at it, to find the arrow is gone and has been replaced with a wad of bandages. “Not too bad,” she nods and it’s the truth. The pain she had been in before is lessened. She still feels like death, that’s for sure, but at least she _isn’t_ dead. 

A slight smile appears on his face, so small that she nearly misses it but any smile from Bellamy Blake is so rare that she has found herself searching for them on more than one occasion. “That’s good.”

Quiet settles over them but it isn’t one of those tense silences she has with Finn when it feels like either of them could just blow up at any second. No, _this_ silence is comfortable. It doesn’t _need_ to be filled with words. But Clarke finds herself speaking anyway because there is something she just needs to get off her chest, something that she needs him to know because…well, just _because._

“Thank you for saving my life.” 

Bellamy’s eyebrows rise and genuine surprise flashes over his face. “Anytime Princess,” he grins. Then he swallows, opens his mouth to say something and closes it again. Finding the words is a struggle but Clarke waits patiently, rests a hand on his arm. Bellamy looks at her hand and rests his on top of it, his larger hand encasing hers completely. His eyes don’t leave their joined hands and he opens his mouth again. This time words do come out. 

“When I saw that arrow headed towards you, I just…acted. All I could think was that I couldn’t let you _die_. I can’t lead without you. We _need_ you Princess… ” 

His next words are a whisper but they resonate deep within her. “… _I_ need you.” 

His eyes are watching her, watching for her reaction. Had he said too much, had he scared her? 

She tries to conceal the smile that stretches across her face but he sees it and a matching one etches itself onto his. They sit there, grinning like idiots at each other for what seems like an age. Neither cares if anyone were to walk in: after all, were they really doing anything wrong? 

Clarke squeezes his hand and nudges him gently. “Well it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere then.”


End file.
